CHAPTER 281

The Huey pilot stood at the cargo door of the first Chinook and stared across the deck to where Dodgson and the others were congregated. He watched them for a while and then turned toward the long hollow interior of the chopper. Removing his sunglasses with a sigh he hooked them to his shirt collar and walked within the depths of the aircraft. Half way toward the cockpit there was a large human figure. This man stood with his back to the Huey pilot. Using tension bands that he'd hooked to the interior wall of the fuselage he was in the midst of doing several reps of rear deltoid flyes. He was shirtless, and every inch of his back and arms were covered in a sea of skull tattoos that was reminiscent of the future war scape from The Terminator.

On his last repetition he released the bands and they swung away from him. Without acknowledging the Huey pilot he picked up a rag from the floor and mopped his sweating torso and shaved scalp. Bending down again he traded the rag for a cut off teeshirt and slipped it over his head. Only then did he turn his hulking shoulders and address the pilot.

"What's the word, Smith?"

The pilot grumbled, "I don't know, Thorne. They're arguing, or discussing, or something."

Thorne shrugged. "Well, we already got paid, so it doesn't matter what these clowns do."

Smith nodded, but he looked like he had something on his mind, and Thorne could see it.

"Spit it out, Smith."

Smith was fidgeting with a toothpick as he leaned against the wall of the fuselage and peered through one of the round windows along the side of the aircraft with a squint. The toothpick went in his mouth, and he clenched his teeth on it. "I just don't like it, Thorne."

"What don't you like?"

Smith pushed away from the window and paced from one wall of the chopper to the other. All the while he chomped on the toothpick. "This dude, Dodgson, he shows up at your house. Doesn't go through the usual channels. He drops a briefcase full of cash on your doorstep and says, I heard you're a guy who can get things done, no questions asked."

"That is the situation. What's your point?"

"How did he know where you lived?"

"I don't ask questions. Never have. Never do. You know that's part of the job, Smith."

Smith gave an exasperated sigh, "and another part of the job is having your client's go through the usual channels so you don't have weirdos like this showing up at your door unannounced."

Thorne said, "you like money don't you? Dodgson dropped twice as much cash than this job is worth."

"And you don't find that curious?"

"Maybe, but I'm not gonna ask. He obviously wants to involve as few people as possible in whatever the hell this is. All he said was, he needs a couple of large choppers to move some assets, and he needs it done fast." Thorne shrugged, "and that's all we need to know."

"I don't trust him."

"I don't trust any of our clients as a rule."

"Well, this one's bad news."

"Most of them are."

A shadow passed in front of the Chinook's rear door, and both men turned. Howard King was standing there. He eyeballed them from the ramp for several seconds before entering. As he moved toward them his motions were stiff and robotic.

Smith leaned close to Thorne's ear and whispered, "how far up his ass does the stick go?"

Thorne cracked a little smile and let it fade as Howard stopped a few feet away. Once again Howard eyed Thorne and Smith like he was analyzing them.

Thorne picked up a canteen and took a gulp. He stared without a word as water dribbled off his chin and onto the floor.

Smith twisted the toothpick at his teeth, conjuring the most uninviting sneer he could muster up.

King's stiff calculated demeanor did not break as he said, "Mr. Dodgson would like to be airborne in ten minutes."

Smith stepped toward King and got in his face. With one hand he slipped his aviators back over his eyes. Gnawing at the toothpick he said in a robot voice, "affirmative," and walked past King with a rough shoulder nudge.

Howard was left with Thorne staring at him.

Thorne took another sloppy gulp from his canteen that soaked into his cutoff tee and camouflage pants. He swirled the water around in his mouth and watched King grow in discomfort. King was working hard not to let it show, but Thorne could read a person.

Thorne finally swallowed and wiped his chin with the back of his hand. He let another long moment go by and said, "Smith doesn't like you." He sipped at the canteen again and followed up with, "I don't like you."

Thorne turned away from King and walked up toward the cockpit.

King, in his robotic way, did an about face and went to exit the Chinook. Two steps in he slipped on the rag that Thorne had left on the floor, and he almost tumbled on his face. Howard uprighted himself and became ridged. Behind him he heard Thorne laughing as he continued toward the cockpit.

Thorne had not even looked back to see what had happened. He didn't have to. He just knew by the sound of it. "Watch your step, HAL."

Howard smoothed his shirt, made a small sound as though he were clearing his throat, and exited the helicopter.